


Jeremy Heere Can't Drive

by ScripStrel



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Because they can't always play AotD, Best Friends, Comfort/Angst, Crushes, Crying, Driver's Test, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hugs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I know this isn't how you tag but I like reading fun tags so I might as well write them, It's Post-Squip angst but nothing major, LEGO Star Wars, Light Angst, M/M, Michael's in love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, One Shot, Pining, Pining Michael, Post-Canon, Post-Squip, Pre-Relationship, Rich and Jake and Brooke and Mr. Reyes are all mentioned but not important, Swearing, Teenagers, The pining might be mutual but Michael can't tell and won't risk thinking about it, nothing new there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15414108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScripStrel/pseuds/ScripStrel
Summary: Jeremy finally takes his driver's test.





	Jeremy Heere Can't Drive

Jeremy Heere can’t drive. It’s just a fact. Michael’s given him rides everywhere since he got his license Sophomore year (was it legal? No. Did that stop them? Absolutely not). Not exactly a problem because they spend all their time together anyway. Just a fact.

Jeremy Heere doesn’t want to drive. That’s what he says, at least. He’s had his permit for over two years now and has actually tried to get behind the wheel maybe half a dozen times, one of which was when the Squip convinced him to steal his dad's car to go to Jake’s Halloween party, and it did all of the actual driving part. Yeah, that probably doesn’t make Jeremy want to drive more. He says he just doesn’t care. He says he doesn’t like being in everyone else’s way. He says it doesn’t matter because public transportation is a thing and he can just take the bus everywhere if he has to. Which is bullshit. Jeremy hates the bus. 

Mr. Heere is sick of it. It’s probably based on the whole “try harder to be his dad” thing he and Michael agreed on. He’s starting to take responsibility for his son growing up. Good, parent-y things. He sits Jeremy down and tells him that until he learns to drive, he isn’t getting a job, and if he doesn’t get a job and start saving, college expenses will bite him in the ass. He can’t just mooch off his friends for rides for the rest of his life. He’s nearly an adult. He should learn to act like one. Starting with the age-old right of passage.

Of course, Mr. Heere isn’t the best teacher. When Jeremy runs over the bushes for the third time just trying to pull into the driveway, Michael gets roped in. It’s no one’s fault that Jeremy’s naturally antsy and nervous and will panic before literally anything else. It’s just that his dad isn’t exactly helping him stay calm because he’s too busy freaking out over the car skidding through every turn. Michael’s a bit better. For one, him being there can help stop the part of Jeremy’s panic that’s rooted in “the only time I’ve driven anywhere was when the Squip was telling me exactly what to do,” which makes it really hard for him to listen to any instruction anyone gives him for fear it’s the return of the electric Tic-Tac. If he can hear Michael, the Squip can’t possibly be around. Michael also just knows how Jeremy ticks. He knows how to get Jeremy to relax, something not even Jeremy can really do. It’s a gift. 

A gift that’s got him stuck playing backseat driver for fifty hours, which is a lot more than it sounds like. Whatever. Anything for his player two. It really wouldn’t be that bad, except Michael has nothing to do except watch Jeremy. When they play video games or smoke or sit through the school day or literally anything else, Michael can distract himself. Can pretend he’s not staring at Jeremy’s little smiles. Can pretend his mind doesn’t zoom in on Jeremy’s voice and on every little point of contact. He can pretend that he’s not in love. 

But fifty hours with nothing to do except make sure his best friend doesn’t crash the car leaves him with fifty hours to think about how much he never wants to do anything else, and also how much he wishes the car  _ will _ crash just so his heart will stop eating him alive from the inside. 

Michael’s crippling crush aside, Jeremy is a fast learner. He can drive the highway in the dark. He can perpendicular  _ and _ parallel park and do so without having to start over ten times like he used to. He can merge lanes like nobody’s business, and by all accounts, he’s probably a better driver than Michael, at this point. More careful, at least. They’re still working on that. The only thing Jeremy really lacks anymore is confidence.

That doesn’t stop him from biting the bullet and taking the test, because “I can’t be the only senior on the bus, Michael.” So, Michael wishes him good luck and promises they’ll celebrate afterwards, provided he hasn’t died of old age via the DMV. 

Michael is grinding to complete Lego Star Wars—yes,  _ again _ —when Jeremy trudges down the basement stairs and flops down on the other beanbag, grabbing a controller and joining in. He mumbles something about Michael wasting his time playing the prequels before helping blast away at all of the furniture in search of studs. Or coins, or whatever you want to call them. Hey, True Jedi comes with a price of every single thing you can possibly destroy. 

But a moody Jeremy is not a good sign.

Michael doesn’t press him. Not yet. He’s not sure how to breach the subject. Either something’s horribly wrong, or Jeremy’s trying to keep things mysterious and suspenseful for as long as possible. He would, the dick. 

Halfway into their third level, the battle against Count Dooku, Michael breaks the silence. Okay, it’s not silence, exactly, but it’s too quiet. There’s no laughter. No mocking the awful plot—again, they’re playing the  _ prequels _ —or nonexistent voice acting. No raging at a glitch or at obnoxiously unending swarms of enemies when they’re trying to explore. Just the occasional, “don’t miss that blue coin” and “can you stand on that button?” that mark their more subdued gaming sessions. It’s not looking good. 

“So…”

Jeremy doesn’t remove his gaze from the screen, fingers tapping away to drive off a fresh swarm of droids. “So what?”

“How’d it go?” Michael chances a glance at his friend. He looks a bit like a droid himself. Expressionless. Robotic. Going through the motions. A fist clenches in Michael’s gut. That’s not a good look on Jeremy. Too Squippy.

“How did what go?”

“Wow, that bad?” Michael pauses the game. He turns in his beanbag to look at Jeremy’s profile. He hasn’t moved. He’s still messing with his controller, fumbling at the buttons as if they’ll do anything when Michael’s the one who pressed pause. Staring at the frozen screen, which reflects flashing light into his glassy eyes. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No shit,” Michael says with a slight chuckle, grasping at straws to lighten the mood.

“Can you not rub it in?” Jeremy shoots a glare at him, but it’s weak. He looks more tired than anything. Something in Michael’s chest cracks. 

“I wasn’t rubbing anything. No rubbing here,” Michael says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just want to make sure everything’s chill—cool! I meant to say cool,” he rushes to cover his tracks when Jeremy’s expression breaks further at  _ that _ word. “You um… You do kinda look like ass.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a dumb test. It’s not like I wanted to drive anyway.” Jeremy’s facade is starting to crumble. His lips are twitching. His voice wavers. 

Michael places a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it a little in what he hopes is a comforting manner. It’s been harder to tell how physical contact will affect Jeremy lately, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, dude. And you can totally take it again.”

“It’s just—” Jeremy sounds like he’s trying to keep his cool. It’s not unusual, but it’s not good, especially as his expression crumples in and he chokes on his words. “Fucking stop signs! All that work and it was the fucking stop signs, which every four year old knows the rules for.” Tears start rolling down Jeremy’s cheeks, his voice raising unbidden into hysteria. He lets out a bitter laugh, arms flailing in an overly dramatic shrug. He’s biting his lips shut against any further sobs. 

Michael swallows. The worst breakdowns are when Jeremy doesn’t want to be having them. Now, Jeremy never wants to have a breakdown, but these ones. These ones when he clearly doesn’t think the issue is something he should be that upset over. They don’t last that long, sure, but they’re even harder to watch. Michael can’t just convince him that everything’s really fine and will always be fine the way he does with any Squip issues. He can’t just say that it’s fine because he’s here and always will be. He can’t say it because Jeremy already knows. He knows it’s a small issue. A silly issue. He knows he probably shouldn’t be crying. Knows there’s nothing to be upset about. 

That doesn't mean he's not upset. 

“You, hey—it’s not that bad! You rolled through a couple, right? Everyone does that. I’m pretty sure Brooke told me she did that, and she’s probably the best driver we know.” Michael pulls Jeremy closer into a one-armed hug, scanning his still sour face. For as much as he looks like a miserable, drippy mess, Michael has to swallow back the urge to kiss his tears away. Instead, he brings his free hand to wipe at Jeremy’s cheeks. Rather than bat him away like he expects, Jeremy leans into his fingers. Michael’s skin definitely doesn’t go hot at that.

“Exactly,” Jeremy sobs. “It’s dumb. Especially when we’d been talking about me needing to stop questioning stuff and just go if it was clear. I fucked up the easiest shit because I was trying too hard to be good.”

“I know dude. It sucks. I’m sorry.” Michael wants to say more. His throat is burning with all the things he could say, but none of them come out. They probably wouldn’t help anyway. Sometimes advice isn’t what Jeremy needs. Honestly, most of the time advice isn’t what Jeremy needs. 

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” Jeremy says, pressing a hand over his mouth. His voice is somewhere between a sob and a shriek. Michael’s heart throbs at the sound. He hates that sound. Jeremy makes it a lot, usually when saying just that. When he’s trying too hard not to be upset about something. Trying to pretend he’s not broken. Trying to pretend he doesn’t need help. Trying not to need it in the first place. Michael squeezes him tighter.

“Hey, now. Don’t say that. You’re allowed to be sad. You were looking forward to this. You put in a lot of hard work. It sucks when things go wrong for stupid reasons. Just because it’s stupid doesn’t mean you can’t be upset.”

“But I’m not even that sad! I could take it again tomorrow and pass because now I know what to do. It’s just that the DMV is a piece of shit and has its stupid waitlists.” Jeremy stops crying, now just sniffling, leaning his head into Michael, who’s still awkwardly perched between beanbags to hug him. Even more awkwardly, Michael wraps his other arm around his friend. Jeremy grips onto the soft fabric of his sweatshirt as it engulfs him, nails picking at the edge of the triforce patch his hands have wound themselves near. Michael tries not to think too hard about this. They’ve hugged before. They’ve helped each other through meltdowns before. Compared to some of those, this isn’t even that bad. There was the first time they’d talked after the hospital, which started with them throwing both insults and punches and ended with them both in tears, tangled together for hours on end because Michael was terrified Jeremy would leave him again and Jeremy kept thinking Michael would vanish into thin air. And yeah, there are still some hard feelings about all that, but nothing nearly worth mentioning. The Squip is history. This is fine. 

Maybe it just feels so serious because Michael knows how much Jeremy has poured into it. Fifty hours. More than two full days of just driving. Holy shit. And repeated mentions, daydreams even, of how Jeremy can just meet up with whoever for coffee or Pinkberry or whatever  _ whenever he wants _ once he gets his license kinda tell enough of the story. And yeah, his recent relapse into crippling affection, which really is a give and take and can usually depend on the day, isn’t helping Michael cope with his friend curling into his chest, but that’s beside the point. 

“It’s—it’s like,” Jeremy chokes out another dead chuckle, “it’s like failing a math test because I forgot to carry the one. Or like not getting a good part in the spring musical because I couldn’t get that one harmony during callbacks because it was a stupid harmony to have to learn in like ten minutes and I’m not a singer and Reyes knows that. Or…” He swallows and sniffs, bundling himself even closer to Michael, pulling them both onto the floor between the beanbags. Michael shouldn’t be as grateful for that as he is, but at least his back isn’t aching from craning a weird way anymore. He readjusts the hug to get a look at Jeremy’s face. He’s smiling, but it’s bitter. Sort of clenched. Probably biting back another wave of tears. “Actually, it’s a fucking lot like getting zapped for slouching, of all things. Maybe you’re not supposed to do it, but everyone does, so why the Hell do I need to get punished when I do?”

“Shit, dude. Is that what this is about?” A chill goes down Michael’s spine. He doesn’t want to ever have to deal with Squip fuckery again, but that doesn’t mean he gets what he wants, and keeping Jeremy from digging himself further into that hole is more important than Michael’s stupid wishes (wanting to ignore any and all Squip-related shit for all eternity especially because they’re mostly back to normal, the constantly nagging urge to either take Jeremy’s stupidly beautiful face in his hands and kiss him into oblivion or to kick him in that same gorgeous face because he keeps doing things that make his heart flip, wondering if maybe they should just go back to the game because emotions are a fucking mess and he kinda wants to keep searching for minikits instead). 

Jeremy sighs and wiggles out of Michael’s grip to look sheepishly at him. “No, not really,” he says. “I’m just pissed. It was actually really easy. Like, all neighborhood driving crap. I shouldn’t have failed. But the dumbass DMV schedule will make it so I can’t even fix it soon. I’ll probably even have to miss school to take it again because that’s the only time they’ll let me. It’s stupid and shitty and I wish I didn’t have to deal with it.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael says as Jeremy hoists himself back onto his beanbag, “but hey, look at it this way, now we can celebrate twice as hard when you do get it. Paint the town red. Burn down the fucking house.” His heart lifts as Jeremy giggles. 

“No way. We are not inviting Rich to anything. Ever.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” Jeremy’s eyes are on Michael as he flops onto the misshapen sack that’s leaking foam beads and barely passes for a pillow anymore, much less a chair. He tries not to think too hard about the intensity of his stare or the brilliance of his smile, even when it’s weak and slightly tear-stained. Michael takes a deep breath. This kid will be the death of him. Maybe he’ll drive through a stop sign and he’ll go out that way. Maybe he’ll leave him alone, drunk, and crying in a burning building. Maybe he’ll just be himself, complete wreck and a bit of an asshole, but the love of Michael’s life nonetheless. It doesn’t matter how, but Michael can feel his gaze and decides that he will willingly die for Jeremy Heere. Not that it’s any kind of new revelation, of course.

“Thanks,” Jeremy says. “For, just, I don’t know. Dealing with me, I guess… Thanks.”

Michael can’t help his grin or the pang in his chest. “Anytime, man. Now, you wanna show old Legohead who’s boss?”

Jeremy snorts. “Legohead? Really? You just couldn’t think of a good insult for Count Dooku, could you?”

Michael sticks out his tongue at him, but it’s not very effective when he’s half-laughing. “Absolutely not. Wanna kick his ass anyway?”

“Um, duh. I’ve had my Lego ass-kicking license since birth. Dooku’s going down.”

Jeremy Heere can’t drive, but he can sure drive Michael crazy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

**Author's Note:**

> Basically the reason I failed my driver's test the first time being vented onto Jeremy because I could. Also, it's Lego Star Wars because when I got home, that's what I played to distract myself. 
> 
> I never write in present tense please forgive me if something went weird with it. 
> 
> I had to come up with the part about the Squip having him drive illegally to the Halloween party because I remembered that he stole his dad's car after I had decided to write this and wasn't about to just stop writing it.
> 
> Comments are always welcome and always appreciated!


End file.
